


we could call it even

by wxri



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drinking, Explicit Language, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Post-Break Up, Post-Canon, Post-Time Skip, Shiratorizawa Academy Volleyball Club - Freeform, brief mention of ushiten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:28:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29524338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wxri/pseuds/wxri
Summary: And thus begins the cycle of falling into bed together—of cold nights spent tangled in each other’s warmth, of mornings after that shouldn’t feel as nice and comfortable as they do, and of Semi leaving and taking a piece of Kenjirou with him every time he walks out his door.
Relationships: Semi Eita/Shirabu Kenjirou
Comments: 14
Kudos: 49





	we could call it even

**Author's Note:**

> I actually started this way back when evermore came out. Guess my favorite song on the album :D  
> I also thought 'tis the damn season was quite a fitting song for semishira, especially since I’ve had this Semi’s music career fluorishes AU in my head for a while now. But yeah I didn’t finish writing this until pretty recently. I was supposed to finish and post this way back during the holiday seasons, or at least by January, but school has been tough.
> 
> Also, I rated this M, but the sexual content is pretty vague, and there is nothing explicit. The first section is probably the most explicit it gets.
> 
> A big thanks to my frien, who read over some of the metaphors I wrote because I made attempts at writing metaphors and I had no idea if they made sense :”)

Kenjirou is intelligent. He knows this. He was able to get into an elite academy like Shiratorizawa based on his marks alone and graduated at the top of his class. Then he went on to attend a prestigious medical school and he’s thriving.

So why, he questions himself, is he here with his back pressed up against the wall of his one bedroom apartment, one hand up in Semi’s hair and the other desperately trying to pull that stupid, tacky jacket off Semi’s shoulders, kissing him like a man starved?

Maybe that’s it. Maybe he’s just starved from months and months without intimacy and Semi decides to show up in town for the first time in months and he’s willing. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” Semi asks, just as he does every single time they end up with their hands tangled up in each other’s clothes in the dark of Kenjirou’s apartment. And Kenjirou hates him for it. Hates him for asking so kindly. Hates him for the reminder of exactly how loving and thoughtful and gentle he is. And how Kenjirou once had this all to himself.

“Just get on with it,” Kenjirou snaps, tugging at the button of Semi’s jeans with a little too much force and urgency.

“Impatient as always,” Semi chuckles, shooting him a grin as he sinks down to his knees, eyes never straying from Kenjirou’s own. And Kenjirou can’t look at him when he’s smiling at him like that because it brings back the memories he’s pushed down under, memories that should be confined to the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind.

But despite deliberately tossing those memories in the still waters of his mind, they somehow always make their way up to the surface again. Especially during times like these. Kenjirou looks back down at Semi as he sinks down on him, and he can’t help but smooth Semi’s hair back away from his face so he can properly look him in the eyes. And he knows he’s fucked when it’s the warmth and familiarity of those brown eyes that elicits the moan that escapes his lips, and not just the warmth of the mouth around him.

Kenjirou hates to admit he’s missed him.

* * *

Hours later, they lay together in Kenjirou’s much too small twin-size bed, his head resting on Semi’s chest and Semi’s fingers gently carding through his hair. It’s a comfortable silence. And Kenjirou thinks maybe if he closes his eyes, it’ll feel like those lazy summer afternoons from all those years ago. The ones where their love was young and exciting, when it was easy and good. But the biting chill of the December breeze invades the room and ruins the illusion, and Kenjirou remembers, _ah, it’s the holidays._

Kenjirou makes to rise from the bed to shut out the cold, when Semi’s arm gently moves him so that he’s resting with his head on his pillow.

“Stay, I’ll get it,” Semi says, his voice needlessly soft. “Did you forget to close the window again? You’re going to get sick at this rate, Kenji.” It’s the quiet, domestic moments like these, and the endearing nickname that slips from Semi’s lips, that make Kenjirou ache all over again. He wishes the memories and the sentiments would just disappear and sink to the bottom of the depths of his mind, but even drowned bodies float back to the surface, signaling the death that took place in those waters. And Kenjirou, as morbid as it sounds, can’t find it in himself to fish out and bury every corpse of every memory he’s tainted with his own hands. 

“I don’t always leave it open,” Kenjirou manages to mumble, “I just forget from time to time.” And something in Kenjirou settles when the chill subsides and Semi climbs back into bed, and he once again relishes in the familiar warmth of Semi’s body next to his. But Semi doesn’t pull him in again, and Kenjirou has to settle for the meager warmth he can feel radiating from Semi’s bare skin so close to his, yet so far. 

“You’re staying in your apartment even though it’s the holidays?” Semi asks out of the blue, turning his head to look at Kenjirou.

“I like the quiet. My brothers are extra noisy over the holidays, and I live close enough to visit often anyway,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling despite being acutely aware of Semi’s gaze on his face.

“Ah, I remember your brothers,” Semi’s chuckles fondly, “How are they?” 

And Kenjirou distracts himself from Semi’s piercing gaze by rambling at length about his little brothers and everything that Semi’s missed about their lives. He thinks about how much Semi’s missed after their break up and how the hurt feels fresh, like a wound inflicted just days ago, though in reality it’s been years. And in those years his brothers have grown from primary school to junior high and junior high to high school, and Semi, who had once been deeply entwined with every aspect of his life, has missed it all. Kenjirou wonders how much of Semi’s life he’s missed during the months they spend apart. 

He thinks about how time passes by way too rapidly, and how his brothers have been growing up much too fast right before his eyes. And how, no matter how many years pass, his brothers will always be children in his heart, stuck in an infinite time loop where they never grow past the green of thirteen. Sometimes Kenjirou thinks that his heart and his mind have also gotten caught in that time loop, never growing past the years where Semi, with his love and affection, was a constant presence in his life, and not something that just comes and goes with the holiday seasons. But now their past is just a ghost of a memory that lingers and haunts him year-round when he’s laying there, cold and alone, on the very same bed.

“How’s your family?” Kenjirou asks when he runs out of words to say.

“Honestly I haven’t gotten to see them for very long,” Semi replies. “I just got back this afternoon and I kinda just dropped off my bags, said my hello’s, then went to meet up with everyone.”

“Hmm, then I’m keeping you from your family.”

“Nah, they have me for the entire holiday season. That’s more than enough time to spend with them.”

“The holidays go by faster than you think, you know,” Kenjirou says, “You should spend more time with them while you can. They probably miss you.” _Like I do_.

“Hmmm,” Semi hums, sitting up a little to adjust the blankets and drape them over Kenjirou’s form. “Well, they can have me tomorrow. For now, it’s late, and I’m with you,” Semi smiles, and Kenjirou almost cracks right then and there. “Unless you want me to go?”

He turns his entire body away from Semi in order to avoid looking him in the face. And like the fool that he is, he opens his mouth and says, “Stay.” He hopes he doesn’t sound too needy.

He feels the soft brush of lips upon his bare shoulder.

“Good night Kenjirou, sweet dreams.”

“‘Night Eita.”

* * *

The first thing that Kenjirou registers when he wakes up the morning after is the cold of the spot next to him. _‘So he’s left. That’s fine, it’s easier this way,’_ Kenjirou thinks to himself as he pulls on warm sweats and slips on an oversized hoodie that may or may not have belonged to Semi at one point in time.

But when he finishes freshening up in the bathroom and steps into his living area, there Semi is. He’s cooking up breakfast and moving with such ease through his kitchen, Kenjirou can delude himself into thinking that this is how it’s always been. Just him and Semi and this apartment that Semi crashes more often than not because he always gets too lazy to take the train back to his own. And maybe those cold Decembers he’s spent building walls around his heart, and the dreary periods that go by in between, were all just one prolonged nightmare. He can pretend that Semi belongs in this space of his that he’s built on his own. 

“You're still here.”

“I made your eggs on the sweeter side, that’s how you like them right?” Of course Semi remembers such insignificant details about him. He’s always been the more attentive one.

“You didn't have to.”

“I know, Kenji, but it looks like you haven't been sleeping or eating well for a while now so—“

“And why does it matter to you?” Kenjirou spits out, internally wincing at the vitriol with which he unintendedly laces his words. He curses his mouth, whose first instinct is to spit words of acid to those who deserve it the least.

Semi freezes, and the ease of their fragile veneer of domesticity cracks and crumbles. He sighs, “Before anything and despite everything, we’re friends, Kenji, and I—“

“You shouldn't call me that anymore.” 

Semi’s always been too expressive for his own good. Kenjirou watches as his face twists into something of a grimace, and something in him revels in the sick satisfaction of being able to throw Semi off the way his mere presence upsets the carefully constructed composure Kenjirou stubbornly tries to maintain. “Ok, Shirabu.”

Then the short high of having the upper hand takes a nosedive and crashes. And he hurts. It hurt more than he thought it would to hear Semi call him with such unfamiliarity, but he knows it’s too late to take it back. He knows he should get used to it. There can no longer be a Kenjirou and Eita. Not if Kenjirou wants to one day move past those years long gone. Because 3 years is much too long of hopelessly wishing for the return of something that was supposed to have ceased to exist the minute it ended. And 3 years is a long time of remaining stuck in love with a man who probably will only ever see him as a holiday fling, regardless of the years past that they’ve spent lounging lazily on the very same couch that sits in Kenjirou’s living area, limbs entangled, Semi’s longer fingers intertwined with his, soft kisses peppered down the expanse of his neck, and even softer whispers of sweet nothings against the shell of his ear.

“Come, sit,” Semi sighs, carrying two platefuls of food to the small dining table, “I don’t want to fight with you today. It’s the holidays.”

The holiday season is supposed to be a time of fun and laughter and love, but to Kenjirou, the merriness of the holidays is always accompanied by an unwelcome adrenaline rush because the holidays mean Semi is home, and Semi coming home means foolishly falling into bed with him. So over the years, the holidays have become associated with guilt and terrible decisions, since they remind him so acutely of Semi and this thing they’ve got going on that only exists in the few short weeks that span his winter break. He knows he should put an end to it, but he can’t bring himself to, because more than he hates the bitter taste that lingers when it’s over and he’s left alone to stew in shame, he’s scared of losing Semi permanently—scared of Semi walking out of his life forever and leaving Kenjirou with no piece or remnant of him at all.

And so every holiday season he finds himself here, with Semi, despite everything.

They’re sitting together at the small dining table, and there should be an air of heavy silence, but surprisingly there isn’t. Because Kenjirou knew the moment Semi sat in the seat across from his that all would be forgiven. It was a wordless truce, just like all those years ago when they’d have their stupidly petty arguments, back in high school and on. But even through the worst of disagreements, the enmity between them would fade by evening; they’d still sleep next to each other and their fights from before would fade into nothingness come morning. It’s a little jarring how years of being together has resulted in them being so in-tune with each other; they don’t need words to settle things between them.

“So, you’re the first I’m telling this to and I’m honestly really nervous to tell anyone else so this is a practice round for when I tell my parents later and all our friends at the New Year’s party too,” Semi rambles, nervously picking at his food. 

“Huh? Why am I your practice?” Kenjirou grumbles. 

“Because I usually tell you things first anyway,” Semi says nonchalantly. And Kenjirou wonders if he even hears the implications of the words that come out of his mouth. If he’s conscious of it, it doesn’t show. 

“Well, go ahead. Shoot.”

“I might be moving to America for a while.”

Kenjirou freezes. He loses his grip on his chopsticks and they fall with a clatter onto his plate. 

“America,” Kenjirou says, testing the feel of the word in his mouth. It tastes bitter. 

“Yea, America. Los Angeles, actually,” Semi says, his hand finding its way up to his hair to tug on it—a nervous tick of his that Kenjirou has noticed after years of only noticing Semi. 

“Across the ocean, America.” Kenjirou says, hoping his voice doesn’t betray any of his emotion. But he hears his words come out more robotic than he wants them to.

“Yea, can you believe it? We were approached by an American label one day, and, god, I’ve never felt so conflicted yet excited in my life! I’ve never imagined taking my music overseas,” Semi rambles on, and Kenjirou can see the way his eyes have lit up like the sun itself and he’s reminded of why he let go of him in the first place. Something that bright and that beautiful had no right to be tied down to Kenjirou’s orbit. 

Kenjirou knows he’s selfish, which is why he finds himself struggling to let go yet again. Just when he thought the train distance was far enough, fate had to swoop in again and put an entire ocean between them. 

“And I guess one thing that I’ve been iffy about is how far away it is. Japan would be a whole 10 hour flight away and those plane tickets aren’t cheap. And it’s so far away from my friends and family, from everyone I love,” Semi says, his eyes staring intently at Kenjirou. “It’s already difficult to feel close and in touch with everyone now, and Tokyo is just a several hour train ride away,” He pauses and bites his lip, another nervous tick of his when he is afraid of voicing something out loud. “Do you think I should go for it?” He asks, and Kenjirou just might be delusional in his hope, but he thinks he hears Semi’s voice waver, and he wonders if there’s more Semi’s leaving unsaid. He wonders if maybe there’s something behind those words meant solely for Kenjirou to decode. But Semi’s moving to America and entertaining those false hopes is the last thing he needs right now.

And Kenjirou wants to say no so badly. He wants to beg him not to leave. He wants to hold his hand, look into his eyes, and tell him that he still loves him. He wants to ask Semi if there’s a chance that he still loves him too. 

But he knows Semi. And even though their romantic relationship is done and over, he knows Semi has a heart that’s so full of love, he still makes room for Kenjirou there despite everything. And he knows that if he were to say no, Semi would listen. Because Semi, as annoyingly stubborn as he acts at times, always listens. 

Kenjirou is selfish, but at least he knows to let go of this one. He has always known that Semi’s destined for greater things. 

“You should go for it. You deserve it.”

And once again, Semi lights up like the sun and Kenjirou can’t look away, even though seeing him this happy makes his heart ache more and more. And it’s worse when, in Semi’s excitement, he takes Kenjirou’s hand and holds it in his own, squeezes it three times, and says, “Thanks Kenji.” 

Kenjirou lets the name slip slide. He’ll allow himself that much. 

* * *

Kenjirou has never once regretted ending things with Semi. No, to say he did was to fall back on terrible habits of taking and taking and never giving. It was always that way in their relationship, and in every brief, failed relationship of his afterwards. But when it came to Semi, Kenjirou wanted to make the effort to give back even a fraction of what he’s taken. And so he lets go, because how else was he supposed to make up for months and years of receiving Semi’s boundless affection and giving back so little in return? Kenjirou wishes showing affection would come easier to him.

But two years ago, a year or so after they called it quits, when Kenjirou gets a text from Tendou saying he and Semi are both home for the holidays for once and the old team should get together sometime, he goes. Against his better judgment. Because Kenjirou has never been able to resist the temptation of Semi. Even back in high school, before they got together, he did everything and anything to rile Semi up, because a younger Kenjirou thought that was the only way he could keep Semi’s eyes on him. 

And so that’s what he foolishly proceeded to do throughout the entire reunion. It was easy to fall back into their old routine of sharp quips and retorts. Easy to provoke Semi into their usual petty arguments. Easy to push every button Semi had to turn his full attention on him, because years of learning every bit of each other doesn’t just disappear because they decided to draw a line between them. 

But even though he was consciously provoking responses from Semi, Kenjirou came to realize that his conscious effort was unneeded, because there were little tells, just small things, that showed that they were naturally and habitually drawn to each other. Small things like Semi dropping into the seat right next to Kenjirou like he belongs there, by Kenjirou’s side. It earned them a few wary looks since everyone knew their relationship was over, but they paid the glances no mind. Small things like remembering all of Kenjirou’s favorite foods, and finding that those foods that were previously on Semi’s plate had somehow migrated to his own. Small things like how his arm ends up on the back of Kenjirou’s seat, and the closeness is so familiar, Kenjirou can’t help but subconsciously lean into it. He ignores Taichi’s pointed glances in his direction.

Maybe it’s these things that compelled Kenjirou to drink at a pace faster than he usually would. And because Semi is Semi, and Semi is stupidly attentive, he noticed. Of course he’d notice and insist on walking Kenjirou home to make sure he made it back safely. Kenjirou knows Semi’s always been kind and would always go out of his way for him, and Kenjirou hates himself for swooning but he does. And so when they get to his apartment and Kenjirou invites him in, he can’t help but pull Semi in to feel those lips against his once more. Then one chaste kiss turned into two, and it all quickly escalated until they were both making their way towards his bedroom, holding each other impossibly close.

“Fuck,” Semi groans as they stumble into Kenjirou’s bedroom, both of them the tiniest bit tipsy. Semi’s face is buried in the crook of his neck, leaving sloppy kisses down the expanse of Kenjirou’s neck. And Kenjirou clutches the back of Semi’s t-shirt, closes his eyes, and savors the familiar feeling of Semi’s lips on his neck. And it’s good. He’s missed this so much more than he’d ever willingly admit. And when he lets out a quiet groan of his own, he feels Semi tense and freeze against him. 

“Kenjirou...Kenji, is this okay?” He asks, pulling back a bit and Kenjirou resists the urge to pull him back down by the nape of his neck. 

“Yes, yes, god stop talking,” Kenjirou hisses, eager to have the length of Semi’s body against his again.

“But Kenjirou…” Semi hesitates, and the gentle brush of his thumb against Kenjirou’s jaw is so needlessly intimate, Kenjirou feels as if he’s on fire. 

“What, are you with someone right now?” Kenjirou asks impatiently.

“No…no, but—”

“Well neither am I. So there’s no problem right?”

“Well no, but just last year I thought you—”

“Just over the holidays. Nothing more than that.”

And Kenjirou had no idea how much he’d regret making that first offer—the offer that catalyzed years of lingering sentiments and unresolved feelings. 

Semi just pauses, bites his lip, and looks at him for a minute, and Kenjirou feels himself growing antsy under his steady gaze. “No. No problem at all,” Semi says, voice detached as he leans back in, and in that moment Kenjirou can’t feel an ounce of regret when the sensation of Semi’s lips against his feels like coming home.

And thus begins the cycle of falling into bed together—of cold nights spent tangled in each other’s warmth, of mornings after that shouldn’t feel as nice and comfortable as they do, and of Semi leaving and taking a piece of Kenjirou with him every time he walks out his door.

* * *

And once again, Semi is standing in the doorway of Kenjirou’s apartment, pulling his boots on, just seconds away from leaving, but this time there’s a sense of finality that prompts Kenjirou to follow him to the door. The other times, Kenjirou would just let him see himself out, but this time they’re both standing in silence in his doorway, and Kenjirou refuses to be the first one to say goodbye.

Then Semi breaks the silence and says, “We’ll see each other at the New Year’s party, Shirabu.” And Kenjirou notes that his voice might be a little hoarse, but it could just be an oncoming cold due to the freezing weather. Kenjirou reminds himself he needs to drink more ginger tea.

“Yeah,” Kenjirou replies, clearing his throat because his voice seems to be failing him. “New Years.”

When they broke up all those years ago, Kenjirou never bothered to watch Semi go. Never bothered to give explanations or smooth things over between them afterward. He just dropped the bomb, let it blow apart the thing they’ve built together and leave behind dust and debris and ruin. He never once turned back or even bothered to clean up the mess he’d made, hence the lingering feelings and ever-present memories that never seem to leave him alone. And even after all these years, Kenjirou could never bring himself to look back at the wreckage caused by his own hand—to watch Semi leave and fully bear the consequences of his own decisions.

But for once, three years after he’s brought ruin upon them, Kenjirou stands there and actually watches him walk away. 

* * *

“So...America,” Taichi says, leaning against the marble counter of Goshiki’s apartment, taking a sip of the beer in his hand. “You don’t look too surprised.”

And Kenjirou doesn’t say anything, because judging by the pointed look on Taichi’s face, he knows that Taichi heavily suspects what they’ve been up to. And that he knows that Kenjirou had already known about America long before Semi’s announcement.

They both stand there in silence for a while, observing the chaos that is the Shiratorizawa Reunion Slash New Year’s Party. Goshiki’s face is beet red and Reon’s trying to convince him to give the shots a rest because despite his claims, Goshiki’s a terrible lightweight. Yamagata’s knocked out on the couch, having taken one too many shots much too early in the night. And Ushijima’s nursing a cup of water while listening attentively to Tendou speak animatedly to Semi. 

“You should tell him,” Taichi says, his gaze fixed in Semi’s direction. “You don’t want him to leave you here with all these regrets.”

“Who says I have regrets?” Kenjirou lies through his teeth. But he knows it’s futile because his best friend can read him like a book.

“Kenjirou,” Taichi deadpans, looking back at him disappointedly. And Kenjirou can no longer stand this topic of conversation so he takes his can of beer and walks away.

“Are you running away?” Taichi calls after him.

Kenjirou doesn’t look back as he brandishes the middle finger in Taichi’s general direction, knowing he’s probably rolling his eyes at him behind his back.

He finds himself on the unoccupied balcony of the apartment, savoring the biting chill of the winter breeze and the way the cold momentarily distracts him from thinking too hard about Semi and how tonight might be the end he’s feared all along. And he kind of hates how these parties remind him of their high school days, and the very beginnings of _them_. But as much as the memories hurt like a dagger to his chest, he cherishes them dearly. There’s this constant push and pull between wanting to toss the memories—to remove the source of his pain, to patch up the bleeding wound, to move on—and wanting to continue bearing this pain because the hurt reminds him of what he had with Semi, and it might be all he’ll have left of him when he leaves. He’s scared of the possibility that removing the pain could leave him with an emptiness that might hurt worse.

There’s less than 3 minutes until the calendar flips and the world moves on, another chapter written in stone and published in the anthology of life, but Kenjirou feels as if he’s stopped writing and contributing years ago, leaving the most recent chapters blank in favor of rereading chapters that ended ages ago. 

“Hey,” a body joins him, leaning against the railing of the balcony, “thought you’d left early.”

“Just needed some fresh air,” Kenjirou says, his eyes never straying from the skyline. 

_2 minutes_

“I’m going to miss this,” he hears Semi say. “These fun get-togethers with everyone. The highlight of my year, really.”

_1 minute, 30 seconds_

“You’re going to miss Yamagata-san passing out within the first 30 minutes of festivities and Goshiki’s drunk crying when it hits 12?” Kenjirou says sardonically.

_1 minute_

“And Wakatoshi’s well-meaning but too blunt comments. And Satori’s limitless energy and unusual brand of care. And Reon frantically fussing after everyone because we’re all terrible lightweights.” Semi laughs wistfully. 

Kenjirou snorts, taking a sip of his beer.

_45 seconds_

“And you.” He feels Semi’s elbow against his, feels his gaze turn to him.

He takes another sip, willing away the lump in his throat that had formed at the thought that Semi will be thousands of miles away. Thousands of miles out of reach. He relishes the minimal physical contact.

_30 seconds_

They can both hear the chaos that’s going on inside the house. If it’s anything like the other years, Yamagata would have just woken up, panicking about almost sleeping through the new year transition, and Tendou and Ushijima are probably already wrapped up in each other, midnight kiss be damned. Because how special is one mere kiss when they’ll probably be sharing kisses for an entire lifetime?

_15 seconds_

Kenjirou hates himself for wishing that _they_ could share kisses for a lifetime.

_10 seconds_

Kenjirou feels Semi drawing closer to him, placing a hand on his arm.

“Shirabu…”

_8 seconds_

“Can I have this?” He hears Semi whisper, his voice shaky and barely audible over the sounds of their friends’ chatter indoors.

_5 seconds_

Kenjirou says nothing, but he slowly closes his eyes and leans forward in assent, and he can feel Semi’s warmth drawing even closer. He feels Semi’s hand brush a stray hair from his face and tuck it behind his ear, moving to gently hold his face.

_3_

_2_

_1_

It feels like it always does when their lips connect: easy, comfortable, _natural_. But it doesn’t last long enough. A nagging voice in the back of Kenjirou’s head incessantly reminds him that this might be it. This might be the last.

And so when Semi starts to pull away, Kenjirou’s hands ball into fists, wrinkling the cloth of Semi’s shirt where they were previously resting on Semi’s waist, and he cracks and whispers, “Eita—”

Semi pulls him in for another kiss, and this one lasts longer. And the one after that even more, and it’s desperate; Kenjirou tries to pour everything into it. All the memories that cling to him—the ones that haunt him in every waking moment, the ones that haunt him in even the best of his dreams. All the unspoken ‘I love you’s,’ all the pining and the yearning and the loss. 

They part, and Semi rests his forehead against his. 

“Happy New Year, Kenjirou,” Semi says.

Kenjirou can’t help but think it sounds too much like a goodbye.

* * *

Not too long after celebrating the transition into the new year, Kenjirou decides it’s time to make his leave. He’s not good at goodbyes, and as much as he wants to stretch the amount of time he has left being near Semi, he doesn’t think he can handle another goodbye. Their balcony kiss was a suitable goodbye, he thinks. 

So he says a quick goodbye to Taichi, thanks Goshiki for having them over, and dips.

He hasn’t even gotten 10 meters from the door before he hears Semi calling after him, “Shirabu, you terribly uncute brat, wait up! It’s late, let me walk you home!”

And Kenjirou doesn’t have the heart to turn him down when Semi’s already jogging to catch up with him. 

They walk together in comfortable silence, and Kenjirou silently takes it all in. Semi next to him, their arms brushing together as they walk, unconsciously seeking each other for warmth. This will be the last time, he tells himself. He’ll cherish these last moments alone with him, because the cycle ends here. They’ll climb the stairs up to his apartment, and he’ll say goodbye at the doorway—he’ll no longer let him in. He’ll watch him walk away for the last time, and he’ll watch the memories and the feelings and the unbidden dreams and fantasies that have frozen him in time 3 years back go with him. And it’ll take time, but Kenjirou’s lived without him before, back before their fateful meeting in that old high school gym. In time, he’ll relearn how to live without him.

Semi interrupts his thoughts by breaking their silence.

“You’re going to hate me for saying this—” 

Kenjirou scoffs, “I’ve put up with you for how many years? And here I am, still talking to you.” But Kenjirou knows he could never bring himself to hate Semi.

“Oh shut up, you,” Semi laughs, but Kenjirou thinks it sounds half-hearted at best.

Semi abruptly stops in the middle of the walkway, forcing Kenjirou to turn and face him. And for once, Kenjirou can’t read the look on his face. Semi takes a deep breath and holds it for a couple of seconds before releasing it, as if psyching himself up for something, and Kenjirou suddenly feels nervous for what’s about to come next.

“I’m leaving in about 3 months and I wanted to get this off my chest before I feel like it’s too late.” And _oh_ , Kenjirou didn’t know that. 3 months really isn’t a lot of time. 

“I know it’s been years, and it’s pathetic, really. But Shirabu— _Kenjirou_ —even after all these years I can’t—”

He takes another deep breath in, this one sharper, and Kenjirou realizes that this whole time Semi hasn’t been able to bring himself to look at him. Kenjirou finally notices the glassy sheen of tears that have filled Semi’s eyes.

“I’ve never stopped loving you. I thought it’d be okay, getting over you, since you’d be hundreds of miles away and I’d be in a new place where I wouldn’t be stuck with reminders of you wherever I go. I thought it’d be easy to just make new memories with new people. I _tried_ making new memories with new people. I’ve tried dating people who were nothing like you. I even tried dating people who kind of reminded me of you. But none of them could hold a candle to you and how much I felt for you.

“And I just can’t understand why—”

His voice breaks, and Kenjirou’s heart breaks along with it.

“Even after all these years, I can’t understand why you broke it off. And now every time we meet, we kiss and we fuck and it’s not supposed to mean anything, but each time we meet I remember being in love with you all over again, and it’s all too much yet I miss it so much I never want it to end. And I try to feel nothing. I try. But I can’t. 

“And every single time, I want to ask where I went wrong, but I find myself too scared to ask. Did I do something? Did you just...fall out of love with me? Did you wake up one day and realize I wasn’t enough? I don’t—”

Kenjirou can’t take the absurdity coming out of Semi’s mouth anymore and surges forward, kissing him in the middle of his sentence, and he finally lets the tears he’s been holding in since he first drove the wedge between them stream down his face. It feels like breaking the surface and taking that first breath of air after swimming aimlessly, lost underwater, for so long.

“Stop. Stop talking, please, I—”

And they look stupid, Kenjirou thinks, clinging to each other in the middle of the sidewalk in the dead of the night on a snowy new years day.

“Stop saying stuff like that. Have you been thinking that this entire time? All these years?” Kenjirou asks, his voice strangled because he can’t breathe through the tears he can no longer hold back.

“What was I supposed to think?” Semi hisses. “I thought we were doing fine until one day you gave me a box of my things and told me that we’re over. Sounds a lot like you’d thought things through and decided you didn’t want me anymore so—”

“It’s not that I didn’t want you anymore, it's because you _deserve better_ ,” Kenjirou says angrily. “It was always you who remembered all the little anniversaries and the stupid little details about me and planned all the dates and I could barely give you an ‘I love you’ on a good day. Aren’t you tired of giving all the time? And you had this glowing opportunity in front of you and I’d be damned if it were me who kept you from it.” And at this point Kenjirou’s just rambling incoherently and he knows they definitely look stupid, whisper shouting at each other in tears in a public area. “But I have never once gotten tired of you, or fallen out of love with you, so don’t you dare think that of yourself. You were always enough. More than enough. Way more than enough.”

“Kenji… Oh Kenji we could have talked about this. What made you think that _you_ weren’t enough? You were always everything to me,” Semi brings his hands up to cup Kenjirou’s face and Kenjirou feels his thumbs caressing him, wiping away the tears that stain his cheeks.

“I shouldn’t be everything to you. There are more important things out there. Like your career. You were going to Tokyo and it was a new start far away from home. I wasn’t going to hold you back, that’s selfish,” Kenjirou grumbles, trying and failing to avoid Semi’s gentle gaze.

“Who ever said I couldn’t have you _and_ Tokyo? We could’ve made it work, I believe in us,” he smiles ruefully. “And Kenjirou, when it comes to me you know you can be selfish,” Semi says. “I want you to be selfish.”

“I can’t do that to you, you know I can’t,” Kenjirou sighs, finally turning his eyes on Semi.

And so they stand there, two heartbroken people absorbed in their own world, relishing in each other’s warmth. Two people so wrapped up in each other, the scattered sounds of fireworks and drunken neighborhood festivities fall on deaf ears; the only sound that reaches their ears is the sound of the other’s breathing.

“You still love me?” Semi whispers, his voice weak and almost inaudible, but the words ring loud and clear in Kenjirou’s ears.

In that moment, a million thoughts should have run through Kenjirou’s head. He should have been thinking of distance. Of oceans between them. Of opportunities lost while shackled to him. Of America. But the only thought running through his mind is how much he _loves—_

“Yeah,” Kenjirou whispers back, the word slipping through his lips unbidden. “Yeah I do.”

* * *

They don’t sleep together that night. At least in the euphemistic sense, they don’t. They’re too emotionally drained to find the energy to make it to the bed, but they do lie together on Kenjirou’s couch, and Semi’s hand hasn’t left his since he first grasped it on the way home. _Home_. Kenjirou hopes one day they’ll have a place they can both define as home.

“It’s going to be years. I don’t know when I’ll come back _—_ if I’ll come back,” Semi whispers into the dark of the apartment. His hand clutches Kenjirou’s even more tightly.

“If you can, I hope you’ll come back to me,” Kenjirou says. “And if not, I’ll do my best to find my way to you.”

And it’s a promise. A promise they’ll hold in their hearts for years to come. And it’s never easy, distance is truly a force to be reckoned with, but they think their hearts have both weathered enough storms.

And it’s worth it because when the time comes, they find that the strongest of the winds have died and the turbulent seas have settled nicely and made way to calm waves that gently facilitate their journeys home to each other.

**Author's Note:**

> I acknowledge that the end is quite vague, but an attempt was made at bringing them back together because I love them and they deserve to be happy :D I had a really hard time coming up with an ending, because I didn't know what to do with them. I, like Kenjirou, didn't want to keep Semi from America, but I also wanted to bring them back together. So I left it vague, and left it up to the readers to imagine what happens in those years following this story when they're apart.
> 
> This was probably the most fun I’ve had writing, and I honestly delayed finishing this for so long because I didn’t want to stop writing it.
> 
> So if you got this far, thank you so much for reading! I hope you had as much fun reading this as I had writing it :D
> 
> Say hi to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kkenri_) ?


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